


These Roads We Travel

by I_Am_Your_Dentist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Everyone is Bad as Feelings, Other, crowley and anathema ignore their problems by driving away from them, really bad coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Your_Dentist/pseuds/I_Am_Your_Dentist
Summary: It's been over a year since the world didn't end. On the surface, everything is perfect. Crowley and Aziraphale had nothing keeping them from pursuing a relationship together. But paradise never seems to last for them, and Aziraphale decides to call it quits. What's a newly single demon to do?Go on a road trip!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	These Roads We Travel

It had been a year, three months, fifteen days, and 11 minutes since the world had almost ended.

One year, one month, 28 days, and 55 minutes since Crowley and Aziraphale had become a couple, the pressure of heaven and hell finally easing and allowing them some time to explore their relationship and what they meant to each other.

And it had been exactly five seconds since Crowley had done something to piss Aziraphale off.

“How many times must I tell you?” the angel said, exasperated, as he slipped a doily under Crowley’s tea mug – far too late; the water ring had already set into the wood. “This table is an antique. I’ve had it since the 17th century!”

“Bit of an overrated century, you ask me.” Crowley, for his part, didn’t seem to notice the shrill quality of Aziraphale’s voice as he continued to scroll through his phone. He had one leg up on the coffee table and the other tucked underneath him, his eyes glued to the device in his hand. “Come on, angel, just miracle it clean.”

“It’s the principle of the matter!” Aziraphale sat very deliberately in his armchair, away from Crowley. He could feel a steam rising between his ears and fought to keep it down as he sipped at his tea. Crowley finally glanced up with a small frown between his brows.

“Come on, you’re really that angry?” He untucked himself and leaned forward, setting his phone down on the table. “Angel. It’s just a water ring. On a table I happen to know you’ve miracle plenty of times before.”

“This is different,” Aziraphale said, as patiently as he could between clenched teeth. “I have asked you to use the doily when you’re here. I’ve asked you to put away books after you’ve pulled them off the shelves. I’ve asked you not to get biscuit crumbs all over the settee. And yet, every time-“

“And here we go,” Crowley grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Everything is an ordeal in Aziraphale’s perfect world. Can’t have crumbs or mess, can’t have music from anytime this century. Next you’re gonna tell me it’s a tartan dress code just to get through the bloody door.”

“I like to keep things tidy!” Aziraphale set his empty mug down with a thunk, the steam rising and threatening to burst out of him. “I’ve always liked to keep things tidy!”  
“Oh, really? Tell that to the papers all over your desk and the endless stacks of books in the bedroom. Can barely get to the damned bed.” He stood from the settee, throwing his hands up. “Fine, you don’t want me making a mess here, I’ll go make a mess somewhere else. Maybe I’ll corrupt a politician.”

“You’re going out to do another temptation?” Aziraphale hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, but once he started he found he couldn't stop. “You don’t answer to hell anymore, yet you still insist on doing their dirty work.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I love ruining someone else’s day.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave, but Aziraphale grabbed his elbow, yanking him to a stop. “Let me go, Aziraphale. Now.”

“Or what?” The angel glared, his blue eyes seeming to glow. “When we became a couple, I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that all demonic activity was to cease. You don’t work for them anymore. I forbid you to send any more souls down to them.”

“Oh, you ‘forbid’ it?” Crowley finally yanked his hand free, matching Aziraphale glare for glare. “News flash, angel, nobody is keeping score anymore. You can drop the holier-than-thou circus act, it’s getting real old.” He pulled the door open. “It’s not like you’re really an angel anymore anyway.”

“And whose fault is that!” The steam finally burst, taking a carefully built dam down along with it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. But it was too late; they were out there, and the shock on Crowley’s face felt like a punch to the gut.

“Crowley…” He wanted to explain, to tell him he didn’t mean it like that. But that wasn’t really true, was it? He had meant it, had been thinking it for quite some time. It just took a heated argument to drag it out of him.

Without another word, Crowley walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

-

There were nearly twelve pedestrian casualties that day as Crowley sped back to his flat, those words echoing through his head. Of course he knew, technically, that it was because of him that Aziraphale was no longer part of heaven. He had thought that Aziraphale was okay with that. “Our side” his arse.

He screeched up to the curb, one tire jumping over and taking out a mailbox. He stalked out to the door of his flat and yanked it open, thanking someone that he didn’t have to really bother with keys. The lift ride up was excruciatingly long, but finally he was within his own walls again.

His eyes swept the bare room until they landed on the atrium. He had been gone for a few days and he could already tell the plants had started to get complacent. He scowled and snatched the water mister. Time to take out some aggression.

“You lot better not have been slacking off while I was gone,” he snarled, his demonic eyes swiveling around, trying to catch some small glimpse of imperfection. It took him a few minutes but he finally found it. A small, slightly shriveled leaf on one of the tallest plants in the corner. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t Crowley. Unfortunately for the plant, it was Crowley who noticed it.

“You,” the demon said coldly, approaching the plant. It began to shake violently, one loose leaf cascading to the floor. “You think you can just ruin all my hard work? After everything I’ve done for you?” He grasped the stalk of the plant and with a great tug yanked it out of the dirt, roots and all. Soil spilled out onto the atrium floor as he began to drag it off. “Time to take you out like the garbage you are.”

The plant was way too big to fit into the garbage disposal, but that was alright. Crowley had prepared for this exact scenario years ago with a convenient purchase: a long-handled lumberjack’s axe. He went to fetch it out of the backroom, dragging it along the ground and grinning sadistically at the loud screeching sound.

Without hesitation, he brought it down, again and again, the metal making sparks against the stone floor as he hacked the plant up into pieces. After a few minutes, it was mulch. Mulch he would be happy to feed back into the living plants, just to drive home how expendable they were.

Crowley dropped the axe on the floor, breathing heavy, suddenly exhausted. Aziraphale’s words were still bouncing around in his head; he wanted to reach in and rip them out by force, chop them into mulch like the remains of the plant on the floor. He was a pro at sleeping when he didn’t want to think of things, though. After their fight over the holy water in the early 18th century, he’d slept for almost 80 years. He could go for another one of those naps right now.

Not wanting to bother with his bedroom, he sauntered his way back through the atrium, sneering at the plants that were still trembling and seemed to be clinging to one another for comfort. With little preamble, he dropped into his throne, and within seconds he was out.

\--

It might have been hours or days later that he was awoken by the phone ringing. Somehow, he had wound up slung over the seat, one leg up along the back while the rest of his body teetered precariously along one armrest. The phone startled him awake and sent him sprawling to the floor with a grumble. He crawled on his knees over to the desk and grabbed the handset before flopping back down on to the floor. If this was a telemarketer, Satan help them…

“Waddyawant,” he slurred, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Was it night or was he just under the desk?

“Uh…hello. Sorry for calling so late.” Crowley sat up straight, then immediately banged his head.

“Ah, fuck…Aziraphale?” He rubbed the sore spot and glared at the wooden desk. It seemed to heighten so he could sit up properly, and if it knew what was good for it wouldn’t budge an inch. “’S’okay. Was asleep.”

“I…thought that might be the case. I wanted to call you before another half-century went by.” Crowley could tell the angel was trying to joke, but his voice shook so badly it didn’t quite land. He sat back against the wood grain, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Yeah…can’t say I wasn’t thinking about it.” Damn, but he really was weak for Aziraphale’s voice. Aziraphale’s everything, really. Even the sound of him made something warm and comfortable coil in his stomach. “Listen, Aziraphale. I’m sorry about all that. If all that stuff matters to you, I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

“Oh, dear…” Crowley heard Aziraphale sniff on the other end. “My dear, I’m sorry too. I said such horrible things to you. But I-“ A choked sound cut him off, and if anything, the angel’s sobs just seemed to get more intense.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Crowley said quietly. “You know I could never stay mad at you.”

“Perhaps…perhaps you should.” After a few more minutes of heaving breath, Aziraphale finally seemed to calm down. “This all isn’t why I called you today. I had…something important to talk to you about.”

“Go on, then.” For Aziraphale, a lot of things could be important. A new book, dinner plans, and gossip from his barber had ranked among them before.

“I think we need to…oh, what’s the term these day? I never get the wording right. Is it…break up?”

Crowley felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

“Break up? Like…like no longer being together. That’s what you mean?” _Please tell me I’ve got it wrong. Please, please tell me I’m mistaken._

“Yes…that’s it.” Aziraphale huffed a breath out like a great sigh, but Crowley almost didn’t hear it over the roaring suddenly in his ears.

“I don’t…” He swallowed, trying to get his shaking hands under control. “I don’t understand, what…over a fight? Come on, Aziraphale…”

“All we seem to do is fight anymore. I don’t want that. I don’t think you do either.” It should have come as some comfort for Crowley that Aziraphale sounded so miserable. It didn’t. “We’re very different people, Crowley. We gave it a go and it just…it didn’t work. I’m sorry.”

“Sure,” Crowley spat, curling into a miserable ball. “So then that’s…that’s it, then? Just goodbye for eternity?”

“Oh, my dear, I hope not! You’re still my dearest friend, I couldn’t imagine never seeing you again.”

“But you can’t stand being with me. Right. Got it.” His fingers tightened on the receiver as he fought the urge to throw it across the room.

“If you need some time to…to yourself, I would under-“

“Yeah. Fine. Can I go now?” He felt like hot fire was coursing through his veins, burning him from the inside out. If he stayed on the line with Aziraphale a second longer, he’d end up begging; the shreds of his dignity wouldn’t survive that.

“Okay. Goodnight, Crowley. And…I really am sor-“ Crowley slammed the receiver down before he could say that bloody word again. Then, he stopped fighting the urge, and threw the whole thing against the wall.

\--

If there was one thing that Anathema could say she liked about Tadfield, it was the quiet. She’d never liked the hustle and bustle of big cities, or the crowds at her parent’s parties. Living in a small cottage in a sleepy village was nice. She only wished it wasn’t also so incredibly boring.

After averting the apocalypse at the tender age of 20, Anathema suddenly found herself with more free time than she could possibly know what to do with. Her family’s money meant the rent was always paid, and she always had enough food and whatever creature comforts she wanted. Getting a job wasn’t a necessity, and was almost an impossibility with her still in the country on a tourist visa.

She thought about going home sometimes, but could never really bring herself to book that flight back. What would she be now that she’d fulfilled the only purpose her ancestor had had for her? How could she face her family with the knowledge that she’d held Agnes’ further prophecies in her hands, and burned them to ash in a field with a boy she’d only just met? She didn’t regret the decision, but…she could just see the look of disappointment on her mother’s face now. It was easier to lie over the phone and through postcards.

She had just put on her nightgown and was about to crawl into bed when a knock came at the door. No, not quite a knock. More like…someone was throwing themselves against the door. She stayed frozen still until it came again, then raced for the kitchen and pulled the bread knife out of the block.

“Who’s there?!” she demanded, holding the knife in front of her. “I’m warning you, I have a knife.”

Nothing. The thumping didn’t come again, but neither did any retreating footsteps. She slowly inched her way to the door and peered through the peephole. It was difficult to make out, but she could just see a slumped figure at the bottom of the peephole. Wait…that red hair looked familiar. Slowly, she opened the door, and the slumped form of Crowley sprawled out on her carpet.

“What…aren’t you that demon that hit me with your car?”

“No!” Crowley pointed up at her, his eyes struggling to focus on her face. “You hit my car with your bike! My poor Bentley was bent!” He curled up on the floor in a fit of giggles. “It was…it was a _Bent_ ley!”

“Okay, you’re clearly drunk.” She held the bread knife out still, waiting for him to make a move. If she remembered correctly, he had helped Adam in some way. He seemed to think well of him and that other one. That didn’t mean she was just going to let a drunk man she barely knew into her home in the middle of the night. “Why don’t you go, uh…back to hell and sleep it off?”

“Can’t…got kicked out of hell.” He sighed mournfully up at the ceiling. “Got dumped by Aziraphale. Home’s no good. Didn’t know where else to go.”

“That’s, uh…unfortunate, but…”

“He said we were different people! Like I don’t know that!” He threw an arm over his eyes. “Spent 6000 years getting told we were enemies…looking over our shoulders…now he says he can’t be with me because we’re different people.” He curled into a miserable ball on the floor, his body shaking with quiet sobs. Anathema stood above him, still awkwardly holding the bread knife.

Okay. So he clearly wasn’t about to just go away. That idea was out. It seemed he and the other one, the one he called angel (was Aziraphale his name?) had had a falling out. Her choices seemed to be to stand there trying to reason with a drunk demon, or…

“Come on.” She offered a hand to him and he stared at it as if he’d never seen one before. “Do you want to keep laying on the floor or do you want to come in and cry on a couch?”  
The moment’s hesitation made Anathema wonder if it wouldn’t be the former after all, but then he was grasping her hand and letting her pull him to his feet. He was surprisingly light. Or maybe not so surprising, considering he seemed to consist of a spine and a few gangly limbs.

She got him sat down on the couch and went to the kitchen to make some tea, more for something to do than anything else. She had never really comforted anyone like this before, but in England it seemed like the answer to most things was a cup of tea. Plus, if she was lucky, he might sober up enough to get out of her house.

She came back to the living room with two steaming mugs and a sleeve of crackers, setting them gently in front of Crowley. He was sitting with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Not moving, but not sobbing anymore, which was a definite improvement. When she set the tea in front of him, he reached out for it to hold it in his hands, but didn’t drink.

“You should eat something,” she said, pushing the crackers toward him. “It’ll help you sober up a bit.”

“Don’t wanna sober,” he said sulkily. “Sober hurts.”

“Well, being drunk hasn’t really stopped you from crying on my floor, so…” She wondered if he would have a retort to that. Instead, he silently reached out for a cracker. The quiet sounds of chewing were the only thing to break the silence as she awkwardly cupped her own mug.

She didn’t really know what the etiquette was in situations like this. Should she…hug him? Not ideal. Touching wasn’t one of her strong suits. Maybe if she asked him what was wrong? No, talking wasn’t one of her strong suits either. At a loss, they both sat there for a good fifteen minutes in silence, the only sounds being occasional sniffling, until finally Anathema had to break the silence.

“You shouldn’t…drive when you’re like this.” Nevermind the fact he would have had to drive to get here. Or did he? Maybe he flew? Demons usually had wings, didn’t they? Or something like that. She hadn’t met many demons, admittedly. “You can stay here until you’re sober…go home in the morning.”

Crowley nodded, finally lifting his head. His bright yellow eyes were raw and puffy. He looked pretty awful. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He waited there while she went to go find a spare pillow and blanket.

“I’ll, uh…see you in the morning?” Crowley just nodded again as Anathema made her escape, desperate to end this awkward encounter. She was more thankful than ever that her bedroom door had a lock on it, and she ended up sleeping with the bread knife under her pillow.

\--

The door to her bedroom creaked open as she crept out the next morning, knife held prone in front of her. The living area was pretty small, so it only took a quick sweep to realize the demon was nowhere to be seen. The couch still had the pillow and blanket on it, folded and unused. Had he left sometime last night after she fell asleep?

With a sigh of relief, she slowly lowered the knife. Well, that was just fine as far as she was concerned. Having uninvited demons in her house wasn’t exactly how she’d expected her life to go at this point, and she wasn’t keen to make that a reality.

She moved into the kitchen to make tea and maybe something small for breakfast, setting the knife down on the counter next to her. As she pulled the eggs out, she couldn’t help but feel at least a little disappointed that Crowley had left so quickly. It was at least something interesting. But, no, it was better this way, right? It wasn’t her problem.

Then again, he had looked so sad.

…Maybe she would call Madame Tracy later, see if she could look him up for her. She wasn’t heartless, after all, and he had come to her specifically for help. She had to admit she was curious as to what had happened. She knew he’d been close to the angel, Aziraphale, and had gotten the distinct impression there was something romantic between them when they’d given her a ride home, but it seemed like even with supernatural beings romance was complicated. She could definitely relate to that.

The kettle began to boil and let out a shrill noise to let her know it was ready. As she moved to take it off the stove, the sound of a distinct snore came from behind her. She froze, reaching blindly for the knife as she slowly turned around.

At first, her eyes swept over the entrance to the kitchen, trying to find the source of the noise. But there was no-one. Had she misheard? Then another snore came from above her and she slowly raised her eyes up to find Crowley, plastered to the ceiling as if gravity didn’t exist.

She screamed and reached for her pepper shaker, chucking it with surprising accuracy right into his face. He woke with a startled cry and fell from the ceiling straight onto her table, breaking it in half and laying prone among the splinters.

Anathema held the knife in front of her as she circled around what remained of the table. Had…had she killed him?

“What…the fuck…?” Crowley groaned as he pulled himself up, his yellow eyes glowing and teeth bared. “Why would you just throw something at someone while they’re sleeping??”  
“You were on my ceiling!! Who does that?!” 

“Well, maybe if your couch had lumbar support I wouldn’t have had to!!” Crowley picked his way out of the rubble, hissing as his fingers came up to touch his nose. It was bright red and crooked, a little line of blood trickling toward his sneering lip.

“Oh…that looks bad.”

“Well it hurts a lot!” He stumbled over to her freezer and threw it open without so much as a how-do-you-do. After a few seconds of rifling, he found a bag of frozen peas and dropped it on his face. “Ah…that’s better.”

“Okay…okay, so…sorry, I panicked, sorry, but you were on my ceiling!”

“’S’fine. Love waking up with a hangover and a broken nose.” His words were muffled by the bag of peas on his face. Despite the fact that he had broken into her house, scared her half to death, and broken her table…he did seem rather pathetic. She poured him a cup of tea and pressed the steaming mug into his hands.

“I am sorry,” she said sincerely. “Why don’t you come sit down at the…in the living room?”

Crowley let his head fall forward, catching the bag of frozen peas in his hand. “Yeah, alright.” He sniffed at the mug and made a hum of approval, then followed her into the sitting area.

“So…last night you were…”

“Pissed out of my mind?”

“…Sure, let’s go with that. You weren’t really making a lot of sense.”

Crowley heaved a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead with one hand while he nursed his mug in the other. “Aziraphale, uh…broke up with me. I got drunk. Ended up here at some point I guess.” He shrugged. “Didn’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“You don’t have any friends? No…family?”

Crowley snorted and smiled bitterly. “Aziraphale’s all that. I mean…he was.” He lifted his mug to his mouth and swallowed the tea down in one gulp. The movement was so casual that she didn’t realize it was actually gone until it clunked down on the coffee table. “Look, I know we don’t really know each other, but drunk me decided to come here, and I’ve gotta stick by that decision.”

“Naturally.” She couldn’t help but smile as she took a sip of her own tea. “Well, then…I guess far be it for me to throw out a man with a broken heart.”

“Exactly. See? Knew I made the right decision.” Crowley leaned back on the sofa and placed the frozen peas on his face. He relaxed bonelessly into the cushions. “You’re alright, book girl.”

“I have a name, you know. It’s Anathema.”

“Oh…that’s a nice name. Crowley.” He hummed, knocking his boots together under the coffee table. “Too bad this isn’t America. I’ve seen a lot of movies from there. I’d be over it in a jiffy with some…life-changing journey.”

“That’s not really how that works-“

“Wait!” Crowley sat up straight. “Wait, wait, wait, that’s an idea.”

“What’s an-“

“A life-changing journey!”

“I’m not following.”

“Book girl! Anathema! We should get in my car and just…drive! Just go wherever the wind and our hearts take us.”

“Isn’t England an island? Kind of a small island?”

“I didn’t say we’d be staying in England!”

There was silence between them as Anathema considered the demon’s words. On the one hand, driving around the country (countries?) with a demon was, logically, a very bad move. On the other hand…

Crowley held out his hand to her.

“Are you in?”

“…Fuck it,” she sighed, and reached up to grasp his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Tumblr if you're interested!
> 
> non-bunnary


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